


the lights are turning on

by nihilistending



Series: Don't Let Me Think Too Long [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Magical Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilistending/pseuds/nihilistending
Summary: Clockstopper and The Prince of Hearts are a crime fighting magical boy duo. What they don't expect is to know each other in real life. What a time to reveal their secret identities but right in the middle of making out?





	the lights are turning on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quenive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenive/gifts).



> secret santa present for quenive

For all his swagger and posturing, Clock apparently likes being on the bottom just fine. Everything you know about him you doubt as his palms cup your hips and he pants into your mouth, easing you into grinding up against the strip of leather covering his dick. You can’t count the number of times he’s made comments about soft flesh- cushy boobs and squeezably fat butts- you’re not sure what it says about you, that he hasn’t made any complaints about your completely flat ass or clear-as-day lack of breasts. Maybe he likes you, finds you attractive regardless. Maybe you’re just convenient.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says against your lips, a smile pulling the corner of his lips. Vibrant, swirling-lava irises are half-lidded and slightly crossed as he looks across your noses into your eyes. Quickly your eyes slip from his achingly familiar eyes, lock onto the deep brown leather of the mask framing them- if only to avoid meeting his stare.

“Sorry,” you say, curling your fingers into his breastplate and frowning down at it. His Knight get-up is more annoying than ever. “Just… have a lot to think about.”

“Regrets?” he asks, hands slipping lower off your hips to cradle your thighs- just past the flattened poof of your stupid shorts. He’s trying to be chaste, you think, give you room- but it’s no less tantalizing to feel his gloved fingers brush your opaque white tights. Nice try, but hard miss.

“No… What about you?”

“What about me?” he asks, pausing where he’d tilted his head to start into your jaw.

“Do you… have any regrets?”

Leaning back, Clock’s eyes shift back and forth- like he’s looking for some hidden camera in the secluded auditorium the two of you picked for your anonymous _hang-outs._ You’re tucked back behind the stage, on stacked fall mats with costume pieces scattered around for cushioning. “Um,” he says, “no…? Not yet, why?”

“Not _yet?”_ you echo, voice squeaking and eyebrows arching high- not that they can be seen under your own velvet silver mask. “What- what d’you mean _not yet?”_

“Well.” He sounds stressed, voice skidding up an octave higher ‘til he almost sounds like your bro. “You’re pretty young, right? Definitely younger than me. The only thing that’s really keeping that from being a problem is, like, no one’s ever going to know who we really are. Ideally. Given the whole _super hero, super secret identity_ thing.”

“I’m legal,” you’re a little too quick to say- not sure if your tone betrays that you’re offended, or that you’re desperate to give him an excuse to keep you.

“Well, yeah- but it’s still… creepy, right? On my part?”

“It’s not like you were waiting with baited breath for me to be bone-able. I’ve been legal the whole time we’ve known each other.”

“But… barely, right?”

“So, why are we doing this? If it squicks you out.”

“It- it doesn’t _squick me out,_ Jesus. You feel this?” Without warning he jerks you forward with both hands on your ass, tugging you back against the erection pushing through his leggings. His leg-guards- or hip-guards, whatever the fuck those are called- dig into your thighs and you’re sure that they’d rip your tights if they weren’t magical-girl material. Your breath hitches and you bite down on your lip, hands gripping tighter at the chestpiece of his armor. “I’m not _squicked out,_ dude, I’m just… a little freaked out about the junk I’m into.”

“You’re telling me…” You exhale the words, feeling light-headed from all the blood either rushing to your dick or your face. You’re glad for the thick metal between you only because Clockstopper can’t feel your heart pounding against your chest. “That’s beside the fact that this is fucking embarrassing, too,” you laugh, trying for light-hearted to smooth the mood between you back to where you can comfortably make-out. You’ve never really been good at light-hearted, though. Pun on your alter-ego not intended.

“What,” Clock leads off into it though your effort was weak, smirking- “because we’re rubbing off on each other like kids?”

“On a fucking mat in a theater that’s only _not_ being used because Noir threw a hissyfit? Yeah.”

“Hope they got their tickets refunded, but can’t really be bothered to give a fuck anyway.” Kneading his gloved fingers against your ass- it hurts a little, but it’s not bad- Clock rocks you against him and nips your lips to tease you down after him as he lays back on the mat. “--Not when I’ve got a lapful of my little prince, blushing and squirming all up on me, tiara askew.”

“Oh fuck you, it’s not askew. This… fucking costume doesn’t fucking budge.”

“Of course it does, baby,” he grins against your lips, not bothered at all that you’re talking instead of kissing. “How else would you do that cute little tiara trick?”

You’re still mad that one of your _super powers_ is a blatant rip-off of Sailor Moon. You’re _not_ a fourteen year old magical girl… You’re just a nineteen year old magical… boy.

“Fuck you.”

“I know you still resent that.”

_“Fuck you.”_

Clock whines, rutting up against you and jostling you in his lap as he does- almost toppling you over. “Baby, don’t tease me like that. You know I can’t.”

“Not with the suits in the way,” you murmur your agreement, hands smoothing over the hard and inconvenient metal covering his chest. Plenty good for blocking baddie blows, but not so much for late night cuddling. You lean down over him and kiss the corner of his mouth, more chaste than you meant for, hitching your hips up against him and panting. “Fuck,” you shiver out, “I want you to, though…”

Clock giggles nervously and you feel like it sucker-punches you in the stomach with the sheer, unnerving resemblance to your brother. It’s been a long time, but you can remember Dave laughing just like that. Fuck, when was the last time? When you were six and you told him you wanted to marry him when you grew up?

 _It’s not him,_ you try to reassure yourself. _It couldn’t be._

“Sorry,” you still say, “was that, uh… too much?”

“No! I mean, uh… kind of, but… for real? You do? You want me to- to do that? Even if it means…?”

“Showing you who I am? I’ve never been opposed to that, man…” your fingers ache as they uncurl from his breastplate, stiffened up and locked into place from how hard and how long you’ve been clutching at him. “I… I’ve said that a few times, right? That I’m… cool with that?”

“Yeah,” Clock sighs. You squirm in his lap, anxious in the wake of his possible disappointment. “Yeah, you’ve always been-... I’m the one with the hangups, there, aren’t I?”

You mumble a non-response, looking down at the intricate details on Clock’s armor and the silver velvet of your gloves against it. When he squeezes your thighs you jump, lifting your eyes back to his with your breath caught in your chest.

“You… mean more to me than just some dude I mack on and fight baddies with,” Clock says, his voice sounding strained as he does. “I guess that scares me a lot, because… legal or not, you’re a lot younger than me. And I’m kind of a high-profile dude I.R.L- wow, that’s stupid, like this _isn’t_ real life-”

“I know what you mean,” you rush to say, maybe get him back on track.

“Yeah, so… I don’t know, it’s something that could probably fuck up a lot in my day job.”

“Yeah…” you murmur, getting the distinct feeling that you’re being let down gently. Even if it doesn’t feel gentle in the fucking slightest. You might prefer it if he just said he didn’t think of you as any more than a sort-of friend. “I understand…”

“No, man, I don’t think you do.” Clock sits up straighter, armor clanking against itself, knocking against the wall behind him as he fumbles to sit up. His hands are still clamped around your thighs, keeping you stuck in place. “You’re- I mean, I’ve got a kid your age. Or just about your age, at least. My job aside- I… I don’t know. I’m not trying to turn you down. I know that’s what it sounds like. I’m just… scared of what this means about me, scared of what this’ll make my kid think of me, scared of what this’ll make Hol- my job. Make my job think of me.” He sighs, a labored sound, and leans toward you. You’re startled when he pecks your cheek, shocked still and staring before you have the sense to move your mouth back toward his. Clock pulls away before you get the chance.

“You’re young,” he breathes against your jaw, sliding his hands up your thighs and around to your ass, squeezing what little there is back there. “I don’t want to- I don’t want to start this up if you’re gonna feel like shit ‘cause I can’t give you what you deserve- y’know? I- I don’t think I can do a- I don’t think I can give you everything I _want_ to give you and you know how it happens in movies and books and stuff, nobody can handle secret relationships.”

You think on that for a little while, pressing your nose against his and sucking in the little moan that he grants you.

(It makes you blush, thinking that you’re not doing shit to him right now- not even kissing him and it makes him squirm, you being so close.)

“It’s not like I’m into PDA or anything,” you murmur, “I don’t even have any friends. Not any that live in the country, at least.” Your velvet-wrapped fingers slide back along his neck, slipping up into his hair. “I know it sounds like I’m just- over-eager or something, but… I’m not really into being a trophy or anything like that, anyway…”

Clock sucks in a breath, just shy of being a gasp. He wants to say something, and you’re waiting for it, but any opposition he has is sighed out a second later and he tugs you into another rock of his hips. “Man,” he moans, “fuck it. I’ve been dying to see your face under all this- all this crap for so fucking long. I trust you, we’ll figure this shit out one way or another.”

“Masks off?” you ask, chest tight, clutching at the back of his neck for dear life as he nibbles along your jaw.

“Masks off,” he agrees, and just like that a crackle of red ripples through his hair- electric through your gloves. Seconds later you’re following suit and in a glow of orange light you can feel the weight of your tiara shifting into the familiar shape of your glasses, Hal spit out as a bright red bulb of light that morphs into something sprite-shaped. Immediately he’s spitting out a disgusted snort, swaying toward the soft orange light of what you can only assume to be Clock’s sprite- bright orange with tiny wings.

Breath shaking, you pull back with your hands gripping Clock’s shoulders, feeling his hands shake against your hips as he does the same-

Already a familiar scent is washing over you- it’s the first thing you notice before your eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the theatre in the wake of the light announcing your transformations back into “civilians”. Then heavily freckled shoulders and a stubbled jaw- shaped much differently than Clock’s was, but… you guess that’s magic.

The light from your sprites fades entirely, both of them retreating to give the two of you privacy, you guess. Some help they are, leaving you with this awkward mess.

“Dirk?” this time it definitely sounds like Dave’s voice. You weren’t just imagining it, he sounds a lot different when he has the mask on. “Oh- oh my God.”

You laugh, nervously, and lean your head forward to lay it on Dave’s shoulder. Your glasses dig into his skin and you push them up higher, out of the way. “Jesus… of course…”

“Of course?” Dave says, outraged, “what the fuck do you mean _of course?_ I- were you expecting this? I sure as fucking shit wasn’t expecting this. I- of all people, I’d already ruled _you_ out as someone who could be the Prince of Hearts. Did- did you know?”

“No. I’d ruled you out, too. If not for a few little things.”

“Like my smile?”

“Your laugh, actually. And your eyes.”

“I just figured the eyes were a- I dunno. A costume thing.”

“So did I.”

There’s a lapse of silence between you before Dave shifts, squirming to try to press himself back against the wall. You realize a second too late that it’s because he’s trying to keep you from touching dicks. You let him move, take the cue to move back a little bit yourself.

“... So…” you find yourself murmuring anyway, taking your glasses off and setting them beside you on the mat. “I… fuck.”

“Yeah,” Dave mumbles miserably. “Same.”

You shift our arms to wrap them around his neck, closing your eyes and burying your face into his shoulder again, ducking your head into the crook of your arm. “We’ve been spending a lot more time together than I thought.”

Dave laughs, barks it out like it’s a sick joke, and you guess that it could be seen that way. You meant it, though, and all of a sudden you’re hurt and feeling more vulnerable than ever. You kind of want to cry, but you really want to be home before you do that. And alone. So you shut up instead. “Yeah,” Dave finally says, sighing, and fuck he sounds so fucking disappointed. Of course he’s fucking disappointed. You were an entirely different person, weren’t you? Someone actually worth admiring. “Yeah, I guess we have… are you okay?”

“Not really.” You sound flat, if only to prevent sounding hurt, but- well, now you just sound pissed off.

“I’d ask why not, but I guess- I mean, I’m kind of broken up about trying to fuck my brother, too.”

“Whatever,” you say, pulling your arms back and flopping to the side to sit on the mat instead of sitting on Dave’s legs. “Let’s just go home, then.”

“What? Why are you so pissed off? I mean- yeah, it’s- I dunno. It’s pretty awkward and fucked up and stuff-”

“Can you just shut up? Let’s just go. I’m not keeping you here or anything.”

“Dude… can we talk about this? I’m not- do you _want_ me to leave?”

You don’t say anything, just look away like the child you are and slide down your sunglasses to sit on your nose. You’re jarred, shocked when Dave rips them off of your face. Out of the corner of your eye you see a little blink of red light, Hal taking notice of your key being taken from your person but doing nothing about it. Dave grips your jaw, briefly rough, before his hand gentles, palm cupping your cheek instead. “Don’t-” he sounds strained, frustrated, “don’t _do_ that.”

“Do what?” you half mumble half growl.

“Shut me out. I’m- fuck, Dirk, I’m trying. Just look at me.”

You look at him upon request, but it’s only a glance because immediately you feel your lip wobbling. _Fuck_ you hate this. You hate this. Why did it have to be him? No- not even that. You’re not even disappointed about that, you’re just disappointed it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to.

“Look at me…” he repeats, leaning into your space.

 _I don’t want to,_ you want to say. Or- _I can’t._ But if you try to say anything you’ll probably cry and that’s the last thing either of you need. Instead you set your jaw and lock your shaky eyes on his heart-print boxers. Yeah. You thought this whole time that Dave was at home, in bed, but instead he’s here and he didn’t even bother to really get dressed before he got up to do this.

“Dirk,” he whispers, and you hate yourself for the way you shiver. “Please…” You count down the seconds before he follows up with a heavy sigh, and you’re expecting him to stand up and usher you out, call a driver to get the two of you home- “Is this how it’s going to be now?” he sounds frustrated and a little bit sad, your eyes waver as you’re tempted to look up at him- “We spent- what, a year? A year and a half? -spent all that time bonding without knowing we were bonding and,” he snorts a sharp mean laugh, “and now that it’s me that’s all different? You’re just gonna shut me out and- and, what? We go back to how we are at home?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” You feel like screaming those words, snarling them and crying them out. Instead the question is posed flatly, evenly. “You’re disappointed. Of course you are, you’re supposed to be. How else are you supposed to process that the person you almost fucked on a mat back here is your little brother?” You pause, tugging at the hem of your basketball shorts. “Or your kid. I guess.”

Dave shuts down and doesn’t say anything for a whole minute before he moves. His legs shift, tucking closer to his body- (his knee bumping against yours, his long fingers clasping over his half-naked legs)- and going rigid seconds later. “Yeah,” he finally says when the minute is up. “... Are _you_ disappointed?”

You hate that question. Or you hate the answer.

It’s been eight years since you and Dave started getting distant, but you still have a hard time lying to him unless it’s by omission. The only reason it hasn’t been hard to keep your identity secret, you think is because you don’t see Dave as himself much anymore. He’s either working, working with you, or… you don’t know- partying?

“Dirk?” he prods, sounding less like your guardian and more like your brother now. Someone that had the same parents as you, rather than your surrogate parent. Scared, a little, maybe.

“No,” you whisper, shrinking back and pulling your legs closer to yourself too. Your arms wrap around them and squeeze. “Maybe I hoped it was you. Maybe- I thought it was you, a few times, ‘cause even if it seemed- even if there was stuff that was off you kind of seemed like you. How you used to be. And- even if I didn’t know for sure- didn’t think it was you… that… maybe.”

“Made you like me more? Because you could… pretend or… or project...?”

You nod, hunching your shoulders up against your neck tightly as you study your clean neon-orange shoe-laces.

You hear a soft clatter and look up just in time to see Dave draw his hand back from putting his glasses down next to yours. He looks back to you before you expect him to and when your eyes meet his there’s a delay before you snap your eyes away quick enough to hurt. His fingers skim your shoulder and you shrug him off sharper than you mean to, jerking your body away from his and bundling yourself into a tight ball where you sit with your back to the other wall. His fingers skim your jaw next, just above where your shoulder is hunched to guard your neck. _“Stop,”_ you snap, shoes squeaking against the mat as you try and shuffle away.

Dave’s hand flutters away before coming back twice as sure, palm feeling like it _used to_ when he urged you out of a panic attack or in the _rare_ , rare moments when you were little and his touch _wasn’t_ a relief like breathing air after almost drowning. He’s firm against your skin, thumb massaging your temple in just the right way, and you’re too stunned-  (that his touch feels so much like it used to, that he still remembers exactly the right way to ease your stress)- to pull away, too stunned to be mad. “I’m not disappointed,” he whispers against your forehead. You almost think you imagined it.

“What?” you exhale back, not sure that you actually made any sound either.

“I’m not disappointed,” he repeats, louder, slipping his fingers into the space your shoulders vacate as your guard shakes apart. “I- maybe I should be, maybe I… okay, no maybes, I _should be_ disgusted or- fuck, I don’t know. Something. I shouldn’t be…” he gives up halfway through his sentence and rests his forehead against yours. “God, fuck. We’re on the same page, here, right?”

For a few seconds you hold your breath, let the silence hang between you until you’re almost scared that you’re not going to be brave enough to break it. Tilting your chin up and shifting your knees down out of the way, you press a tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth. Still enough to be chaste, right?

No- no, fuck no. A nineteen year old boy doesn’t kiss his brother, much less kiss his brother like that. Like you did not fifteen minutes earlier, too.

Panic is just starting to build up around your heart and push down like a vice- your flight reflexes tingling in your throat- when Dave breathes out this tense sigh of relief and threads his shaking fingers back into your hair. His mouth pushes against yours, only his knuckles keeping your head from pushing back into the wall as he kisses you. You feel like crying now almost more than you have in the past few minutes but for a completely different reason.

You accidentally knee Dave in the ribs when you try to get your legs out from between the two of you. He half-laughs, half-wheezes against your lips and you try to murmur apologies only for Dave to take the opportunity to put his tongue in your mouth. You moan, pushing your body flush up against his and squirming your legs up over his hips. When he starts to pull away your heart jumps in your chest, only settling when his arms wrap around your shoulders, and pull you down on top of him.

“So…” The whisper of your voice between your lips doesn’t feel like it belongs to you- barely sounds like it. “We’re really- really doing this?”

“If you want to,” Dave says, eyes meeting yours in a nervous way, hands changing shape against your shoulders. Just like that the nature of his relationship with you changes tones, vacillating in a dizzying manner between tentatively romantic and tensely familial.

“Do you want to?”

“Well- I want to if you want to.”

“You…? I- I only want to if you want to.”

“So you don’t want to?”

“Do you not want to?”

Dave’s head thumps back against the mat heavily. “God fucking damn it,” he groans. “This isn’t getting anywhere. Look- I want to, but I don’t want to if you don’t want to because I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex with me or anything.”

“I don’t! I just- I just want to check that you’re not, like… you don’t feel like you… have to. Because I… expect it, or something.”

“I… I want to do this.”

“For you? Or for me?”

“For… I don’t know. For us? I feel good when I’m… I like… us. The way we’ve been for the past few months, but… not just that way. I like how we used to be, too, and… I guess I miss you.”

“That’s not the only reason why, though, right…? Because- maybe you feel like otherwise we’ll just… drift apart again?”

“You sound just like Rose.”

“Dave…”

“No, that’s not the only reason why. Can- can we skip talking about how attracted I am to you? It’s still, uh, a pretty new realization and if I let it sink in-”

You feel a little bad for how quickly you rush to kiss Dave again, but he doesn’t seem offended by it. On the contrary he laughs, a light airy little sound against your lips before he parts them against yours and nips his teeth at your lip. Both his hands rub up under your shirt, trailing your spine and pressing you against him more securely. You shiver under his fingers, overwhelmed with nerves and excitement.

“Can I- um…” you say before you’ve even fully thought your request, pulling back to look down at Dave. “Uh…”

“Can you what?” he asks. The way his words rush twists up in your stomach with the tone of his voice. You get the distinct feeling that he’s urgent without trying to be- doing his best to play it cool halfway through the blurted prompting. He wants to know. He’s excited, but he’s trying not to let you see that. At the same time that it irritates you- because he’s trying to hide himself from you, still- it excites you right along with him.

“Can I- uh… can I touch…?”

Dave waits for a second, giving you some room to finish, but when you don’t he nods anyway. You mull that over, biting your lip, before shifting your body to the side over his thigh and cupping your hand over his dick. You squeeze and roll his length against your palm, trying to keep your awed exhale quiet enough to hear the way his breath hitches. “Is that good…?” You murmur, timid.

 _“Mmhm…”_ he hums, rocking his hips up and rubbing into your hand- slow and barely-there, at first, then a little more roughly until he’s outright rutting into your palm. “Nhhgod, _Dirk…”_

You expect it to break the mood again, but your fingers don’t falter and there isn’t a moment where Dave has to realize what he said. Instead there’s only a whisper of Dave’s name back from your lips, your hand kneading around the shape of his length through his boxers.

“Can I-”

“God, dude, yes. Anything…” he gasps and you’re shocked by the unabashed meaning in his voice. _Anything,_ he said, and your knee-jerk impulse is to ask if he means it. If he really means _anything,_ when he says _anything,_ but…

“Dirk…?”

Your hand had stopped. You didn’t notice, but it did and Dave looks worried now. Shaking yourself out of your momentary stupor, you slip your hand higher from the front of his boxers almost to his belly-button, then hook your fingers into the material and tug them down low. Dave’s swallow as he tries to clear his throat is audible- maybe it’s the quiet between you, or just the weight of his apprehension clogging up his throat. You pull down lower, over his thighs, almost to his knees, and in the same motion you duck your head down to press your lips to the base of his flushed cock. “Oh,” he gasps, the sound punched out of him by an almost comedic impulse. “Oh,” he repeats as your tongue drags up his shaft, more of a moan, _“-fuck, Dirk…”_

When you curl your tongue around the head of his cock the back of his other head knocks against the wall. _“Nhhh,”_ he keens. “God, Dirk, _oh my God…”_

You hum against the very tip of him and drag the flat of your tongue over his slit, closing your lips around the head- just under the ridge- and sucking as you pull up to press a closed-lip kiss to the tip. Dave’s crazy about it, thighs quivering on either side of you, knees touching your shoulders in a gentle tap before they spread wide enough to strain his boxers.

“Dirk-” he gasps, “-hey, _mnh,_ st-stop a second, I-”

You pull off of him per request- disappointed more than is probably appropriate for any situation, a little anxious- and watch him pant to catch his breath while he oozes pre-come over his stomach. “H-hh…” he starts, breathes, starts again with a pat of his thigh. “Here, sit here…”

You falter, not eager to get out of the territory of sucking Dave off, but follow his request and straddle his thigh. Humming, Dave leans forward and rests his forehead against your shoulder, hands gripping your hips and sliding over them- rubbing back and forth before he tugs you closer- (it’s a near miss that you don’t knee him in the balls)- and slips his hands around to slide one into the front of your shorts. Dave’s hand is dry and a little cold, but it doesn’t bother you like it normally would. Instead you gasp, only briefly jolt back before rubbing up into his hand and pressing your nose into his hair. “I was gonna come,” he explains with a sheepish little laugh. “God- I- I feel like we’ve been edging all night.”

“I mean,” you echo his laugh and slide your shaky arms around his shoulders, “k-kinda, yeah…”

“My balls have been flexin’ all night, they’re not used to this kind of work-out,” he near-whines and that strangles an actual laugh out of you, complete with a smile muffled into his hair and everything.

“Oh my God,” you sigh- half exasperation, half pleasure. Then, _“Dave…”_ all pleasure.

Dave nudges you forward, shoves you down on your back and covers your body with his. Your dicks bump and rub together, not nearly enough friction and only enough to be a desperate tease, but Dave is curling his hand around you both shortly after and it’s _so much better._

“Oh _God,”_ you moan, fumbling your hand and wrapping it around Dave’s to try and help. Really you’re just awkwardly holding his hand around your dicks, but- fuck, it’s something, right?

Dave’s body presses tighter to yours, he pants against your cheek and kisses your lower lip with sloppy urgency. You don’t care. You love it, you love this, you love _him._ You’ve loved him for months now, you just-

You bite down on his lip just a little too hard when you come, letting go just a second too late as you arch up against his body and fumble your thighs part-way around his leg. Dave doesn’t seem to mind, paying you right back with clumsy scrapes of his teeth against your jaw as he ruts against you. Seconds later he’s coming, too, clutching tightly to you and seeming only to just discover your neck again. He nips and nibbles, lazily, just under your ear.

“Mmnh…” you shiver, slide your arms around his waist and up under his shirt.

“Yeah,” Dave gasps against your skin, huffing a weak laugh. “Same…” He buries his nose up into your hair, panting against your neck and trying to rest his weight to the side, rather than fully on top of you. His body is still a nice weight against yours, pinning half your body with his come cooling over your stomach- shirt rucked up with the motions of your bodies. It feels like a dream, breathing in his scent and feeling the puff of his breath against your skin. You haven’t been this close in… _years,_ if you even have ever been this close. When was the last time it felt appropriate to share a bed with him or cuddle up together? The last time you hugged, the last time he touched you with more than a passing thought?

“I missed you,” you murmur into his stubbled jaw, letting your shoulders tentatively ease. “I mean… I missed you, too. I… this is nice.”

It’s a few seconds before Dave says anything. You know he’s thinking, distracted from your post-coital comfort by the layer _under_ this decision the two of you made. “Yeah,” he says slow and calculated, “yeah, this is nice… I missed… being this close to you. Physically. Literally.”

This could easily turn into a pretty deep ditch, so you sit up and twist to look down at Dave- brush your fingers over his cheek. “Can I sleep with you tonight? Literally. In- uh… one of our beds.”

“Um…” Dave looks lost, suddenly, shifting up onto an elbow and pawing around the nest you’ve made of this nest, finding some costume hat and pressing it to your stomach to rub away the streaked come there. “Yeah. Yeah, we can… do that.”

After that there’s some more awkward fumbling, the two of you getting yourselves together before letting Hal and Davis cloak you both in your masquerades. Clockstopper and The Prince of Hearts take separate paths back to the Strider Penthouse, both of them given time to think before they’re pressed to meet again. Even after you get home and drop your transformation, shooing Hal off to his designated corner of your room- (in the pile of horse plushies on your third worktable)- you don’t see Dave again for another hour and a half. Instead you focus on stitching some of the tiny wizard outfits Roxy commissioned for her collection of cat plushies.

Things aren’t going to change with Dave. Not immediately. The situation is too complicated to resolve itself by something so…- No, things are only going to get more complicated. Your relationship with Dave will affect your relationship with _Clockstopper_ before the reverse has a chance of happening. All you can hope is that this doesn’t ruin things entirely.

“Uh, hey…” A tiny rap of knuckles and Dave’s voice announces his arrival seconds before he opens the door, lingering there like he has any other time he’s strayed close to your room since you graduated high school. “You, um… getting tired?” You swivel in your chair to face him, but don’t get an opportunity to say anything before he’s taking the opportunity for himself. “--’Cause I was thinking about bedding down in a couple minutes, here. Not like, in an old dude going to bed early way- it’s, like, 2AM, man- but like. You know. It’s been a long day, lots of activity and excitement and, uh… gymnastics in some plate-like stuff. Even though that stuff isn’t actually, like, _legit_ plate. Faux-plate, all the strength half the weight. Still inconvenient as fuck to do all those flips and pirouettes and handsprings and shit in.”

“Talk about a workout.”

“Right?” Dave smiles a little easier, but his posture is still stiff.

Chewing your lip, you tuck your sewing needle into your pin-cushion and push your chair back from your work-table. “Now that you mention it, I _am_ pretty tired.” It’s not even a lie, you’re exhausted both physically and emotionally from the events of the night.

“So you wanna…?” Dave proposes tentatively, opening the door a little wider as if he’s holding it open for you. The way he looks at you doesn’t scream excitement or happiness, still having that underlying read of _I don’t know what to do with you_ in his body language.

But it’s a start.

You nod and stand up, gathering your phone and your shades- Hal along with them- before following Dave across the house to his room.


End file.
